Omegaverse
by DannyPhantomOfTheAvatar
Summary: John can't be trusted alone with an omega, that's just how it is. He begins to think... with an abandon of rationality.


The case was good. The bad guy was put before bars before committing suicide, and the victims lives were avenged. The only down side were the hours.

John had been up for forty-seven hours straight, relying on his coffee past the twenty-five hour mark. Sherlock, however, had been up much longer. John wants to guess he's been up at least four days trying to solve the case, but he can't be sure.

So, now, it's around midnight and the two very tired and very determined-to-sleep men must walk to Baker Street due to lack of cabs. Yet, despite their drive of sleep deprivation, Sherlock notices John pacing ahead with a ferver.

"What's wrong?" He calls ahead to John with the only reasonable question, why else would John do this.

Being ahead three lamp posts, John stops on the sidewalk, peering into an alley way. "I heard something." He's weary of going in alone, the long alley way has no sign of lighting up on the other end. "It sounded like an omega in distress." Sherlock finally caught up, rolling his eyes when he heard the word 'omega'.

"They're probably just a homeless in heat. We've solved our puzzle for the day, now lets get back to BakerStreet!" The little dark circles underneath Sherlock's eyes briefly highlighted the popped veins in his forhead, being frustrated and exhausted.

"Yes, and what if they are in heat, hm? An alpha could come and take advantage, could give them some nasty disease. I'm helping him." John didn't go just yet. The alley was still dark as ever, and risking it wasn't something he did.

"Actually John, you doubt the instincts of some betas. Most betas would also be attraced to an omega's scent, just for your lacking information! And then there comes the question of, 'What are we going to do with an omega in heat?'. Are we going to plop him off somewhere else, somewhere less dangerous?"

Another noise broke from the alley. It was no doubt the noise of an omega in heat, and the omega had heard them, whimpering in fear and confusion.

"He's young, Sherlock, hear that? Just help me take him to the home we passed a few blocks down." Three paces, John pulled Sherlock behind him until he walked willingly. "Be aware of weapons." Sherlock cautions, and the other just scoffs it off.

Behind the bins that came into their view, popped a head full of long, red hair. The face was pale and contorted, it was a girl. "Jesus, Sherlock, it's a woman." He rushes to her, the girl hiding once again behind the bins and curling into herself.

"She's a teenager, John. Probably has a home and ran away." Sherlock stayed back, watching the girl. She didn't realize that John was trying to save her and not rap her until John shook off his coat and laid it on her shoulders.

"Lets find your flat, shall we?" Slowly, John helped her up. She was shaking, and drenched in sweat and other unkind fluids. Nodding her head, she kept her head down, and held her anxious noises to a low.

"I'm calling Lestrade. He can get a name to the face and track her house." Phone going to his ear, Sherlock begins stating addresses and building numbers. John looks down to the girl cradling closer to his side as they go back to the street, her arms wrapping around his side loosely.

"Shh, we're getting help." He speaks lowly. His voice begins affecting the girl, her noises of pain and confusion sounding a little more like need. Her arms tighten around him, and she looks up to lock eyes.

Sherlock knows John is an alpha. So, Sherlock knows when he sees an alpha breaking around an omega. What John doesn't know, is what Sherlock is. Never in the years he's known him, has any sign of any lable been visible.

So, all in all, it's amazingly easy for Sherlock untwine the girl's fingers and latch her to his side. "Thanks, Lestrade." Hanging up, the phone goes back to his pocket. "Alright, he's meeting us at this corner up here." Giving him a knowing glance, Sherlock turns his brief attention from John to the teen who seems even more urgent. She needs to be at John's side again, or she sees that he now has interest. But it's unwilling interest.

"He'll be soon, right? I mean, we were just at the crime scene an hour ago." Dizzy feeling, they begin walking from the alley to the road. Sherlock's hand is tight on her back, just incase she decides to go begging to John. Though, her hands seem to be mindless drabbling over the detectives chest and stomach.

"Soon enough." He assures, being soaked in unnecessary wetness. The wind that is picked up on the street doesn't help the teens scent. It blows into everyone's nose, and even Sherlock doesn't have to be an alpha to understand why they love it so much. It's just natural.

But nature doesn't mean he can keep his eyes off of John. Just seconds ago he was poised and cool-headed, tired, but alright. Now, his hair is disheveled from his hands running through it, his shirt isn't tucked in as nice, sweat of his own is appearing on his forehead, and many other things like alpha's scent, red ears, and twitchy fingers.

"You can head off, if you want. Lestrade should take ten to twenty minutes at most. I'll be right behind you." He gives John the ticket out, hoping and praying he'll take it. John is respectable, a doctor, and has been in contact with men and women in full heats in his medical career. He can handle one, out of office, scenario. Can't he?

"Yeah... Yeah! I should leave, get the house warmed up." Pointing forward and nodding, John hesitantly turns to leave, but does. Only, the teenaged girl takes one last chance in a fit of desire. She pushes off Sherlock, who tries to grab her and fails, and sprints to John. The doctor must be weaker than thought. He just turns and embraces the young girl as she throws her hands onto his belt. And for those brief seconds, Sherlock felt a weight of responsibility.

What if John was too far in? What if the police caught his scent on her? What if her parents pressed charges?

...

Sherlock entered the flat an hour later, clicking his neck and stretching, ready for bed. "God!" He yawns, big mouthed, lagging himself up the stairs and into the flat.

John was still up, sitting hunched over on the couch, hands fitted in one another.

"Go to bed, it's nearly two." Sherlock orders. John just looks up in the dark room to him, "I'm sorry you had to see whatever that was. I noticed you saw, and it was embarressing."

Blinking away the sleep in his vision, Sherlock leans against a wall. "No need to apologize for instinct." Standing up slowly, John shakes his head. "No, it was wrong. That was a young lady. I'm old enough to be her father. I should've just called police in the first place."

Pulling his coat off and emptying his pockets to ready for bed, Sherlock just nods profusely. "And you're clearly the better person for saying such things. You should reward yourself with sleep." He raises his eyebrows for a second then begins walking to his room.

"You're just leaving, then? No questions?" John paced to the kitchen, getting closer. "No, none. Something tells me you do, though." Sherlock pauses a hand on his door.

"Yeah, no. I don't know. Let's see tomorrow- ya?" Beginning to squint himself, John yawns again. Then they both give a sign and head to bed.

...

The question just never came. The whole of that next day was slept away by both parties, and the day after that, John went back to work then came home to sleep some more.

The three days past that night, Sherlock got took a case from John's blog. It involved a deaf witness, the victim, and a gunshot from an unknown source, but those were just vague facts.

The seriousness of it being three days past that night, was it was three days and not two like Sherlock thought.

This time of the month, on this day, Sherlock walks to the bathroom, opens the counter door, and takes his suppressants. Along side the birth control implanted in his arm, his heats are unnoticable. Yes, Sherlock was classified as an omega, but it doesn't mean he's willing to succumb to the title.

Though, Sherlock doesn't understand yet that he has missed a day. He forgets he has slept a full twenty-four hours away, missing the crucial day before his heat to suppress it. The birth control only goes as far as keeping Sherlock from getting knocked-up. It does nothing for the urges entailed.

Sherlock closes John's laptop, ready to begin the case, ready to take things off his mind when he feels it. There's a slow burn, painful, in his stomach. It feels like the anxiety you get infront of a crowd, but precise, stronger, and lower.

"Hope i'm not sick." Grumbling, he picks a pace to the bathroom. Moving makes the pain heavier. Today, Sherlock has woken up and gone straight to John's laptop, nothing else. He picks under the counter and finds the suppressant bottle.

No suppressants.

"Fuck! Empty." Kneeling on the ground, throws the bottle and stands, fishing his phone out. Dialing in the one number that matters at the moment, he calls his pharmacist, ordering two bottles and fast.

That feeling in his stomach grew still, even as he hung up the phone Sherlock's hand went to hold it. "Mm." He grunts, walking to his chair and curling in on it. It was difficult to think, to breath, to see. The more minutes that passed, the more he knew it was his heat, and the sleepier he got.

Ten minutes on the chair, and he's passed out.

...

"Sherlock! Sherlock, wake up." Lestrade is in the flat with John who just came home from work. Lestrade's hand shoved worriedly on the detectives shoulder.

It was for a good reason, too. He's only been asleep an hour and he's drenched in sweat. "Uhh" Sherlock wakes up, with a violent turn of the head and sound of distress.

"Sherlock, what's going on?" John's eyes were wide and shocked. Lestrade's face was equally shocked, but more so worried. "Ay, I waited up for you for a lead on the case. Now your-"

John shoves Lestrade aside, "Seriously, Sherlock, what?"

The more Sherlock wriggles in his chair, the more musky scent delivers around the room, and the more he becomes aware of the lack of pain and reverance of arousal.

"What's today?" He shakes a breath. Greg, a beta and good one, sniffs through the air as he purrs, "The third..."

Again, John shoves at Greg, "It's nice of you to check on him, thank you." Greg snaps back to reality, a widened look on his face, "Check- oh. Oh! Shi- Yes, my mistake. Bye." Though, his eyes were set on Sherlock the whole time, exiting with a stare.

Snapping, John gets Sherlock's blurred eyed vision. "Look here. Here." Sherlock's head tilts to him, mouth dropped and eyebrows raised. "What am I smelling on you? Huh? Tell me what i'm smelling."

Doing his best as doctor's word to keep things private, John's eyes don't stray any further down than his face.

"Oh, it's the fucking third, John! The , John! John, oh fuck, John." The longer he talks, the more Mrs. Hudson could mistake it for a porno being shot. "I called for more... More, more!" And maybe looking down was a bad idea, John tried not to, but he did, getting an eye full of Sherlock's hips grinding down on the cushion, his legs constantly moving.

"You ran out of suppressants and your a day in a heat? Is this really the fucking best way to tell me you're an omega?!" John begins covering his nose with a hand off and on, squirming in his own way because of Sherlock personal, omega scent.

Sherlock lets out a low laugh, then bites his lip. "No," he says between teeth. In a very perverted and wrong way, Sherlock looked like a child to John. Helpless, sick. He knew his flatmate wasn't used to heats. Hell, he would have KNOWN if he had one before, the smell is tons too strong.

"I'm going down to get the medication. Try to stay clothed while i'm gone." Quickly shucking on his jacket he'd just stripped off a minute ago, John dug his keys out, heading out.

Sherlock just looked on pitifully, hearing John lock the door behind him. It was nice of John to lock it. How unfortunate would it be for Mrs. Hudson to have to walk into a scene like this?

John didn't care about the people he passed and shoved on his way to the pharmacy. It took his will power to just keep from thinking about that scent, the way it played with his mind, and other various body parts.

The pharmacist was skeptical as she handed the presciption away, and the person behind John in line recognized him. (Making it awkward to order the high dose of suppressant a minute later) But at least he was nearly home now.

Just because he knew what Sherlock's scent was, he was sure he could smell it from down the road. Musky, almost like the sweet smell of coffee, and vanilla. It felt wrong comparing it to food, but John could hardly resist the urge to take a sample bite of it.

Sherlock had migrated to the floor, wriggling on the rug and moving it half across the room. His head perked up when he heard the key in in door. "Why don't I care, John?!" He looked to John, who was also a mess... a shaking mess. "You know damn well, why. Now, let me ask you something. Why the hell are we going through this?" Ask he spoke, he popped two pills out.

But he hesitated going to Sherlock, hesitated to administer them to the 'patient'.

"You should leave." Sherlock had tossed on his back, chest riveting up and down rapidly, legs bent in attempt to hide the obvious tent.

"No, I mean, if you take the medicine it'll be easier. Here..." John straightened up, kneeling down to drop the pills in his the other's hand. "I'm too far in." After quickly tossing them in his mouth, Sherlock took the same hand to John's leg. Not holding but gripping, pulling.

"It's fine. Right? We can control ourselves." Rational thinking? Gone. Chances for ignoring base instinct? Slimmer by the second. Sherlock drops his jaw, his insides siezing and clenching, voicing a moan before, "I can't."

This is why John dated betas, this is why John doesn't trust himself around patients and why he was an army doctor and not THE army doctor. He couldn't be alone with an omega, and especially not one like Sherlock. An omega that hasn't been in a heat for god knows how long, who's scent has now stained the flat, an omega who's pants are undeniably soaked in juices and very much failing at hiding an erection. An omega who is now whimpering silently for it.

"I can't see what colour you eyes are, Sherlock, your pupils are so fucking blown." John then basically gave his resignation. A signed document stating, 'I cannot fucking keep my hands to myself' and proclaims he was the child who touched the art pieces in an art museum.

Creeping on his elbows, Sherlock is audibly purring, "Touche." John leans down, without consent, bowing his head to meet Sherlock's open, wet, and breathing mouth. Though, John can't be trusted, this is the first time he's acted on impulse. It feels very guilty and rewarding.

Pushing Sherlock back down, John slides evenly over him making their zippers meet and noisily grind. It's very satifying to feel the body of an omega in heat, even if it's your best friend. He's warm, responsive, and downright dirty. "Lets just-" John frees one of his hands to pull the rest of Sherlock's shirt from being tucked in his pants, looking down as he does, "-Take care of you." Tongues and lips meet again.

John doesn't risk letting go of Sherlock's mouth as he basically breaks all the buttons of the other's shirt, and shimmies his trousers off. Sherlock's hands stayed braced to the floor, legs hooking and rubbing up John's once his jeans are gone.

In only an open button-up, and grey briefs with black elastic, Sherlock lay under John, still, cock twitching. "S'mething wrong?" John breaths heavily, releasing lips, realizing his stillness.

Rocking his head slowly side the side on the rug, Sherlock still silently arches his back, "Look," His eyes gesture down.

One more peck and John looks down to Sherlock's grey-clothed erection in thin material. He's completely soaked, from the excreted juices and also semen. John looks up, forcing some slowness to this, "You're just leaking for it, aren't you?"

Nodding profusely, Sherlock wraps his legs around John's butt and arms, begging. "Okay then..."

If they were paying attention the sound of doors being forced in, was rather loud. And it wasn't because seconds after those sounds that Greg was standing dissappointed and staring, that they stopped. Because nothing could stop an omega in heat and alpha who has scented that heat.

They stopped and looked up because the open door released the smell of angry beta. Distgusting and revolting.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Greg's hands went firmly to John's collar and knocked him aside, throwing him into the side of his chair. "Ah, no fuck you this is our flat!"

Sherlock rolled to his stomach, not really knowing where he was trying to go. But he was going, drooling on his way and avoiding Gavin or Geoff... Greg. "You know better than to take advantage of a heat, the state may not consider it rape, but you know damn well it is." Acting like the father that never scolded John like this, the back of Greg's hand popped John's cheek.

"Did you come all this way back just to hit me? Is that it?" John asked, hand coming to his face. "Wha- No! I tried stopping you on the street earlier, and you looked indecent. It took me ten minutes before I decided to check on you two, which i'm glad I did."

Sherlock was listening, and despite his brain being muddled, his suppressants were kicking in. "How do you know we weren't together before this? It wouldn't be rape, then. It would be consenual." And even during his worst of times, he was defending John. Besides, this was his fault by a landslide.

Greg released his hold on John, untensed then tensed again with embarressment this time. "Gay?... I mean, John, you aren't gay. And Sherlock's not, Sherlock doesn't do the long term stuff. I mean- If you are! If you are, then amazing!-" John found it was time to intervene, he'd just given Sherlock a look.

"And on that note... I believe it's time we said goodbye for the day." His back hurt from being pushed into the chair, and his brain was far too fuzzy for debating sexual preferences.

"You two have been at it this whole time? I owe your landlady twenty quid, long over due." A quick smile, so wrongly put there, rose on Lestrade's cheeks. "Now please let us be." Sherlock whispered low.

He once again left, smiling this time, and with faulty information. The first thing John was, is plant his face in his hands and groan in frustration. "Gah, Sherlock I should've left way earlier. Let me pack." Then scooped himself to a stand.

Still laying on the ground, Sherlock's hand came up. "Wait, please. You don't have to. I'm done trying to get my way, and frankly, I'm tired of this." John couldn't resist the need to help him up, to put him in bed and bring him dinner. He must be thirty.

"You are too trusting with me, you know that? Something very nasty could have happened if Greg wasn't here to stop me." Helping up the man still in his broken t-shirt and grey brief's, John's nose smelled a lessening of the scent. It was still strong, but not coming off as much. "The only bad thing that could've happened is mentally. I have birth control, it's in my arm."

John briefly inspected the white skin under Sherlock's forearm, finding a small scar that has been reopened many times, to administer new medication. "I wasn't really thinking about... children..." John felt extremely glad Greg had come now, and there was no way he was loosing his blush. "But thanks for that new insight. I was more on the mentally messed up part. I could've bitten you, bonded. I'd have to move out, I wouldn't be able to live with what I did. In some occurences, an alpha watching it's first heat could kill the omega... I mean, there is so much that should've stopped me sooner."

Already made way to Sherlock's room, Sherlock lays himself on his soft bed. "If all those things should've stopped you, why didn't they?" He flicks his wide eyes at John, "I should tell you that even though i'm thinking much more rationally now, it doesn't mean I want you any less. Right now, I can smell fourteen alphas on our road alone, and I want every single one of them. Yet, I will always pre-choose you."

John takes a glance around the room, not believing he was being spoken to. He shifts in his stance. "Pre-... Me? This isn't some declaration of love your heat induced, is it?" The room was hot, his ears numb, feet heavy.

Sherlock smiles, laughs a bit, "No, I mean you'd be the only one that would take care of me. The only one, even out of Greg-the-Beta, that would really give a shit afterwards. I'm just saying, you have my consent, and, no, it doesn't have to be long term. Just for this heat, just this once."

Lying there, pants still uncomfortably wet, soiled, his legs still move in discomfort, John's eyes draw to the darkened fabric that make way between his legs. Sherlock notices, and widens his thighs for his pleasure. "Unless you couldn't look at me afterwards." There was a drawl of sadness in it, put there purposefully.

"If I did. If! Only if. You would make sure I wouldn't bite you. And you'd tell me when to leave, you'd tell me when you realize this was all a bad idea. I'll go." John spoke to his crotch basically, feeling like a deer in the headlights like with the teen girl earlier that week. John was straight went it came to gender. He loved every kind of girl; beta, alpha, and omega even if he'd never been with one.

Maybe Sherlock was the exception. He can be the last experimental check on his list.

"Oh, I already know this is a bad idea. But some of the best things are. There will be no kicking out of bed, John, just you and me until i'm over this." It wasn't dirty talk, but close enough.

John smiles, taking his time to edge the end of the bed, "I still can't believe Mrs. Hudson has been putting bets on us, I should get in the action." Crawling up the bed after he tosses everything off but his creme coloured underwear, Sherlock V's his legs for John to settle inbetween. "You are getting in the action. Well, if getting in me counts for anything."

Putting on a face of astonishment before he kisses him, John caresses each side of Sherlock's face. "Why are you such a dirty talker, hmm? You should use those puns more often."

Hands roaming lower to John's bum, pulling him to his leaked erection, Sherlock hisses into the other's mouth. "We should do this more often."


End file.
